


The Understudy

by earlcementthethird



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kidnapping, M/M, Mystery, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-02-10 13:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18661186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlcementthethird/pseuds/earlcementthethird
Summary: In which Kazuichi and Kyoko team up to solve the circumstances surrounding the disappearance and reappearance of one Chihiro Fujisaki.





	1. A Body in the Cold

A penny spins on a table. You turn around and see it spin. You watch it, mesmerised. You turn back to face the wall. Seconds later the spinning stops and you turn your head once more. The penny is gone. No-one entered the room, so it couldn’t have been stolen. You pat your pockets and check your hands. It isn’t there. You scour the ground, but it hasn’t fallen. And slowly, slowly...

 

you begin to believe there was no penny there to begin with.

 

The Understudy  
Chapter 1:  
A Body in the Cold

February 26th, 2:32am, Hope’s Peak Academy (cafeteria)  
8 months, 12 days, 3 hours. Mind you, it’s not like many people were counting. 7 months, 12 days, 3 hours ago there may have been a few. But at some point in time, life had to happen. It had to go on, leaving only the one person sitting at a cafeteria table in Hope’s Peak alone to care. 8 and (bordering on) a half months had done little to help Kazuichi Souda – and in truth that amount of time can cause turmoil in a person’s heart and mind and leave scars outside and in, and in truth it most certainly did. The spark of hope that nestled itself into Kazuichi’s heart was fighting to stay alive, fighting for some kind of justice. The irrational part of his brain took hold sometimes and vied to keep Kazuichi going, but it was nigh on impossible to keep it going for long. And so, no matter what Kyoko Kirigiri told him, no matter the official police report, no matter if anyone else so much as decided to tell him to continue – if there was (as there always seemed to be the past months) no progress on the case then his will was irresolute. No matter what, he would pronounce Chihiro Fujisaki dead on the spot and strike him from his heart forever. No longer missing, but dead. And thus his throat closed as it did every 26th of the month and his hands began to tremble in apprehension and anticipation. This next report would quite literally be a matter of life or death.

 

June 26th, 11:29pm, Kazuichi’s Dorm  
No moonlight wormed its way through the curtains of Kazuichi’s room. Only the soft lamplight and dim glow of a phone screen gave off luminescence and, though little, it was homely and comforting for Kazuichi, who for so long had felt so out of place amongst every student of the Academy. Kazuichi moved in a rhythmic, side-to-side pattern on his chair, which squeaked ever so slightly and eventually laid the phone down on the hard wood of the desk and went to climb into bed. Chihiro had promised to sleep with him tonight, something Kazuichi was looking forward to. The more time he could get with his partner, the better. So perhaps it was the fact that the person knocking he had opened the door to see wasn’t in fact his lover, but rather a sickly pale girl with purple-ish hair and eyes that couldn’t quite meet his that first raised his suspicions. Kazuichi’s brain worked quickly. He was a complete numbskull at times, yes. He was an airhead, moron, baboon, idiot, brainlet, whatever insult you could throw at his intelligence, he certainly was. At times. But sometimes an intelligence, motivated by a strong emotion, sprung forth. Be it fear or compassion, confidence or rage, whenever Kazuichi was emotional but lucid enough to control said emotion, he was capable of great things.

 

“Something’s wrong.” He told Kyoko. “What is it?”  
“Hmm? You could tell. Curious.” She responded.  
“Don’t be coy, what’s wrong? You won’t meet my eyes. Tell me what’s wrong.”  
“Do you have a habit of assuming the worst whenever a detective knocks at your door? Or is it just because I work with the police? Would you treat, say, Shui-”  
“Kyoko, please! I don’t like what you’re doing. You’re rambling because you’re nervous and your eyes won’t meet mine and-” Kazuichi’s voice cracked and he could speak no more. He was naturally scared and Kyoko was right, he did assume the worst. But something was off about this visit. Kazuichi knew full well no good was to come of it.  
“You had… best sit down. You’re right. You won’t like what’s coming next. But please try and remain calm.” Kazuichi did as he was instructed. His fingers were trembling and waves of terror began to swell and crash in his chest. Authority figures as imposing as Kirigiri scared Kazuichi, someone who looked like him was almost their natural prey – and yet by the way Kyoko was acting Kazuichi knew for a fact it wasn’t about him… and that was what terrified him most of all.  
“Kazuichi. Tonight, on the way back from the centre of Tokyo, there was an abduction. CCTV recorded the whole thing. There was evidence of a struggle found on the scene, but nothing to ID the perpetrator.” The room was deathly silent and deathly calm, which scared Kazuichi half out of his wits. He wanted to scream already and he didn’t know what was coming next.   
“And…?” Was the only word he could choke out, his throat still sealed tight with emotion.  
“The victim. I’m sorry, Kazuichi. I really, truly am. It-” Kyoko sighed and in that moment Kazuichi felt a searing pain in his forehead. “It’s Chihiro. He’s the victim.” 

 

The searing pain subsided, though it was only there for a second anyway. Replacing it was a blast of static in his skull, which echoed and tore at the walls of it. A low, dull ringing began to sound in his eardrums and even the silence itself sounded drowned and faded, like it was far away. But it was silence, that’s all. Silence so loud it was deafening. The air became acrid and Kazuichi suddenly wanted to claw at and tear away chunks of flesh from his throat, leaving only the sore, raw, exposed flesh to breathe freely against the air. He wanted to scream, to vomit, to cry and hit something all the same time but as his eyes and cheeks became red hot and tears began to flow, he knew he had only succeeded in doing one of those things. “Why?” He asked through gulps and sobs. “Why him?”  
“There’s no clear motive, I’m afraid. The only person who knows why is the perp.” Kazuichi didn’t even bother responding. He was too miserable to do anything but cry until Kyoko became too distressed to stay in the room any longer, leaving without another word. And so, Kazuichi was alone and that night failed at even crying himself to sleep.

 

By the morning, the hollow feeling that had buried itself into his chest had not subsided as Kyoko (and two rather distinguished looking policemen) took to the assembly hall to break the news. Some took it hard, others were indifferent but the mood and temperature of the room dropped upon the speaking of the announcement. By afternoon, Kazuichi had everyone looking after his every need, tending to him, when all he really needed was time to reflect. Fuyuhiko pledged support of some Yakuza members he was still in contact with, despite the fact he had sworn to distance himself from that lifestyle. Mondo had already sent the message out to his gang to keep an eye out for Chihiro, giving Kazuichi a knowing nod when he had done so. Kazuichi, Mondo, Kyoko and Shuichi were the only ones who knew Chihiro’s secret but when Kokichi suggested he get DICE involved because “You all seem to worry a lot about this…” he let out an insufferable gremlin snicker, “guy.”, Kazuichi began to wonder if maybe Shuichi’s oath of secrecy was worth a lot less than his detective skills. Nevertheless, area covered was valuable and by the end of that day Kazuichi felt his mood lift – all over by the end of summer, he thought. And then silence. Dead, radio silence.

 

February 26th, 2:35am, Hope’s Peak Academy (cafeteria)  
Moonlight wormed its way into Hope’s Peak cafeteria, with no curtains to shut it out, the massive singular-paned panoramic window that acted as a ‘wall’ to the dining area let every single pure silver beam into the room, to dance across the walls and on the tables and chairs and tiles on the ground. The beams that danced on the door were rudely interrupted by Kyoko, who flung open the door with gusto and came in holding a file in her gloved hand. Well, one says holding; yet what one really means is the gloved hand was crushing the base of that file into a fine pulp, adrenaline and excitement spurring on the massacre of perfectly good paper. She slammed it on the table and for the first time in Kazuchi’s memory grinned. A wide, genuine grin, pure as could be. It was infectious and Kazuichi knew she came bearing good news. “Kazuichi.” She panted. “Oh, Kazuichi.”  
“What…?” Was the only word he could choke out, his throat now sealed tight with emotion.  
“They found Chihiro.” At that instant, time stopped. Kazuichi felt something hard and cold and dense as lead melt away in his chest and let out a guttural laugh.   
Kyoko interjected. “But…” Kazuichi stopped laughing. The room darkened again, as if to remind him it was still night.   
“But what? Wait, he’s not…”

 

“Not dead, no. But he was found half-dead, naked and in a trance on a road leading out from a youth hotel in Austria some time last night. Last night over there, that is.”  
“A-Austria? Isn’t that like… 6,000 miles away?”  
“Yes. Which is certainly a cause for concern.” She took a seat and entered a tense stance, a solemn departure from her happiness only moments before. “You see, now it’s a matter of pride.”  
“Pride…?”  
“National pride, to be exact. You know how important we are to Japan. Hope’s Peak is internationally recognized as the standard for excellence. Do you know how many tabloids have been printed about people like you and I internationally?”  
“I… don’t pay much attention to that trite.”  
“It’s astronomical. Now, say you were the Japanese government. One of your national treasures, one of the greatest technological minds of today’s youth goes missing… and then shows up in a foreign country.”  
“They’d be suspicious – beyond that.”  
“Exactly. But Austria, why Austria?” Kyoko looked at Kazuichi, expecting an answer, like a teacher to their student. Kazuichi mulled this question over and as he did so, his eyes lit up.  
“Well, the Austrian government would have no need for him, right? They have a military but nothing that requires a programmer of his caliber to control. Maybe he’d be useful to the government in some way, but if you’re asking me…” Kazuichi closed his eyes and tried to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. “Well, it’s right in the middle of Europe. Kind of a big middle finger, right? That it shares so many borders and yet the whole international community couldn’t find someone of his status, right?”  
“I’d say you’re dead on. Interpol has been licking its wounds after this incident, I’ve heard. The entire Japanese wing of the organization apparently resents its European neighbours for not being able to root out the kidnapper and our government agrees. Someone like Chihiro Fujisaki shouldn’t have been able to have been smuggled out the country and into another that easily. I remember my superiors in the force showing me the reports, he was top priority for every international power – the Ultimates like you and I are excellent leverage for our country because everyone else wants a piece.”

 

“So, whoever kidnapped Chihiro wanted to raise international tensions?”  
“Not necessarily. It could’ve all been completely coincidental. But it certainly has succeeded in doing so and I’m sure someone sick enough to lay a finger on that boy would probably be getting a kick out of it right now.”  
“So, um, after they found him… what happened?”  
“Ah, right. Well, first and foremost they didn’t want to move him to a hospital. Too high profile, apparently. They’re caring for him in the youth hotel just up the road from where he was found. He won’t lose any limbs, miraculously, but that’s… about all I was given.”  
“…I’m just glad he’s safe.”  
“You could go see him, you know.” Kyoko blurted out.  
“Hm?”  
“You could be necessary in his recovery.”  
“Recovery…?” Kyoko frowned at this question.  
“He was missing for 8 months. His mind isn’t the same as it was before then, Kazuichi. No offence, but you should really know that. And besides, you’re important to his recovery for one reason we consider very relevant to this case.” Kazuichi’s blood ran cold, perhaps colder than the snow and ice his boyfriend had collapsed in many hours beforehand. “Chihiro was found by a coach of students on their way to a restaurant to celebrate the end of their trip. Austrian Polizei questioned them later. Some were pretty torn up about it, but they could all remember one thing clearly. Chihiro was only capable of uttering one, singular word.” Kazuichi knew what was coming next, but pressed on anyway.  
“What word was that?”  
“Your name, Kazuichi. Your name.” Kyoko rose silently out of her seat and left Kazuichi to stew pensively over that fact, perhaps wondering whether he’d find solace or horror in it, before adding, “And pack your bags. We leave for Dover tomorrow.”  
“Wait, Dover?” Kazuichi shook out of his little trance and futilely called out to Kyoko. But like the moon behind clouds, she’d disappeared without a sound. 

 

And, like on that night 8 months, 12 days and 3 hours ago, Kazuichi found himself unable to sleep.


	2. Good Company and White Cliffs

Chapter 2:  
Good Company and White Cliffs

3:41 am, Kazuichi’s Dorm  
And so, Kazuichi lay there. Just staring at the ceiling. And feeling dread, relief, terror, anger and a potent concoction of every other emotion that had plagued his mind since that day. All he could hear was the sound of his breathing, sometimes calm, sometimes soft, sometimes frenzied but never constant. The duvet on his bed was too hot, but stripping it off made him too cold and overall even without the duvet troubles trying to sleep was a miserable enough experience. The buzz of his phone, its lilac blue light pouring into the room was a much-appreciated event, as his mind was tying itself into knots just lying in darkness. Every time he went to open his phone a familiar warmth greeted him, a bittersweet and melancholy happiness lodging itself into him. The Côte d'Azur… memories perhaps saved for a better time, when this whole mess was over. The reason the phone had lit up to begin with was a text from Kyoko:  
“Sorry for how I acted before. I needed to explain more, not just walk out like a damn fool.”  
“It’s fine. What was that about Dover?”  
“Hm, give me a minute.” Sure enough, it would take Kyoko some time to explain this situation.

 

“Okay, so the situation has gotten worse. Pretty obviously, the Japanese government want either Japanese Interpol agents or just straight up Japanese police to investigate in and around Obertauern, where Chihiro was found. Austrian authorities don’t want things getting any worse than they already have, so they agreed – on the condition you and I don’t come anywhere near the country. They don’t want some children coming in and stealing the spotlight – especially not you, who isn’t even registered in the force. They’re not even letting you in under the pretense you’d be part of the healing process. But I think we might have some fans in the Polizei. The chefermittler – Josua Blankenberg I believe the report specified – said he would allow us to have a look around and argued you had the right to see Chihiro.”  
“And? We still wouldn’t get it, right?”  
“That’s why we’re headed for Dover. The idea is simple. In the time it takes to cross the English Channel and take a coach to Obertauern, I’m sure the government would’ve changed their view slightly. Be it they change it naturally or they’re convinced, it still remains that Chihiro needs you and the investigation team needs us. I’m sure once they realise we’re valuable assets they’d allow us to stay, wouldn’t you agree?”  
“You make it sound like we’d be doing actual detective work. You’re not actually bringing me along to go out in the freezing cold so we can prod round crime scenes are ya?”  
“Yes. Unless you want the mystery of who kidnapped him to go cold and his mental state to rot with only his father there for comfort, I suggest you actually use your brain for once.”  
“Taichi’s there?”  
“He’s allowed in, but they still see you as unnecessary.” 

 

Kazuichi swallowed something hard in his throat. Unnecessary. It was right then and there he decided he would go. No matter what, his resolve wouldn’t be broken by some petty precautions this foreign power put in place.  
“Kazuichi?  
You still there?” Two texts from Kyoko had sent when Kazuichi had spaced out.  
“Yeah.”  
“Good. One more thing. Remove that ridiculous pink hair dye and take out those contacts. Bring your glasses if you want. Take a hoodie and keep it up, just keep a low profile. If we get recognized, the jig’s up. The media has been dead silent because the world stage doesn’t want this getting out. If someone saw us and put two and two together… let’s just say Austria would suddenly become the hottest new journalistic pilgrimage and our chances of seeing Chihiro before he's discharged drop below zero.”  
“Ridiculous pink hair dye? You want to drag me to some CSI investigation bullcrap when all I wanna do is see him again and you already insult me? Man, interns have it rough.”  
“Cut your whinging. I’ll explain why you’re needed in the investigation when I see you in person. And make sure you download some entertainment. Those coach journeys get pretty rough. Especially when you want to bludgeon every tourist adjacent to you. Start packing. See you at 5 sharp, outside the school gates.”  
“Wait, Kyoko, I wanna ask some more questions!” 

But there was no response after this. And Kazuichi waited. And waited. Kazuichi sat at the edge of his bed. All he wanted to do was see Chihiro again. But now he was getting dragged into international affairs, forced to investigate for some reason (clearly Kyoko saw something that just wasn’t there) and on top of all that he had just had his hair insulted. Not a good morning, by any stretch of the imagination. But Chihiro took precedent here. He was all that mattered. And as Kazuichi pulled his suitcase from out of a cupboard at the end of the room and began to pack it, he thought that maybe playing detective’s understudy wouldn’t be too bad. Just this once. Maybe he’d end up coming out looking cooler in Chihiro’s eyes. That would be nice. 

 

Oh how he would come to regret that thought.


	3. A True Beginning

Chapter 3:  
A True Beginning 

5:00 am, Hope's Peak Academy, Front Gate 

Kazuichi tore off a patch from the packaging in front of him, allowed his body to shiver and stuck it behind his ear. His suitcase was fully packed, including another batch of hair dye he planned to apply later on when he finally reached Obertauern. No matter what he wanted Chihiro to recognize him, he wanted to walk into that room with pomp and circumstance and wash away whatever pain he had endured the past few months. But right now, standing out in the freezing morning cold, his contact lenses secured in his bag and red wireframe glasses digging into his nose he hardly felt like he knew himself. Though it took another two minutes, Kyoko finally showed, looking completely different as a person. A small baseball cap covered her hair, now tied neatly into a bun and she had put in contacts that made her eyes blaze an intelligent shade of auburn. She wore a rather neat black trench-coat and looked overall a different person – though that was the point, Kazuichi supposed. “Well, I’m impressed. You spruced yourself up nicely.” She called out through the bitter air. The elements seemed to not even affect her, her mouth remaining poised, her fingers not so much as trembling and looking at her hands Kazuichi saw the only constant in her new get-up was the gloves that covered her hands. He pondered on what could be under the leather.

“Don’t be too impressed, this whole look’s going the moment we step foot in that miserable country, ya hear?”  
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” For a while all that could be heard was the wind howling through the bare branches of the trees, causing a light din Kazuichi wished could be filled with conversation. “So, uh, what time’s the ride gettin’ here?”  
“Soon. It’ll probably be 4,000¥ to get us to the airport, but I’ve paid the driver an extra 30,000¥ to keep his mouth shut about taxi-ing two Hope’s Peak students somewhere at the crack of dawn.”  
“That really necessary?” Kyoko shot him an irritable look and threw him a bundled up gossip magazine.  
“I was recently given this by Hifumi. I decided to keep it because I knew you’d ask that. Maybe you’re not so well attuned to society, but take a look at this and ask me again if it’s ‘necessary’ to hide our identities.” On the front of the magazine, dated 8 months and 18 days ago, was a full, front-page dedicated to a singular photograph. Though one of the figures’ heads had been scribbled out with permanent marker, Kazuichi remembered the expression it wore well. That day was the first and only date he had ever been on with Chihiro – and sure enough, there the boy was, sitting off to the right clutching Kazuichi’s hand across the restaurant table. He could almost smell the wood-burning stoves of the eatery, feel the warm sun across his brow and how soft Chihiro’s hand was in his own. He could faintly remember the feeling his heart was going to burst at every second of that date. But right now, all he felt was sick to his stomach. His own life was not gossip and despite the fact he was repressing sobs he could almost feel the vomit creeping up his throat and felt the need to repress that too.  
“Disturbing, isn’t it? And to think, the two of you were completely unaware every move of yours was most likely tracked by these bloodhounds calling themselves ‘journalists’.” Kazuichi didn’t even respond. His fingers felt numb and he crumpled the magazine beneath his fingers, something the previous owner seemed to have done many times due to the worn creases covering the base.

After another three minutes, a silver Nissan pulled up on the pavement next to them. “Taxi for a Ms. Kirigiri?” Kyoko nodded her head. ‘Would you like some help with your luggage?” The man asked. He looked exhausted, as if he had been driving men and women around Tokyo for days now and there were slivers of grey in his black, parted hair despite the fact he looked only thirty. Kyoko shook her head and loaded her (quite small) suitcase into the trunk. Kazuichi followed suit and then hopped into the car, the leather seats cold to the touch and uncomfy. It was an old beast of a vehicle and judging by the erratic vibrations made from the engine Kazuichi could feel going up to his arms, was in need of repairs. The man drove away from the pavement and almost immediately began to run his mouth. "You're students correct?" He asked. For a while, all he got for a response was the sound of tires against the road and other cars rushing past. Kyoko had no intention of answering and pulled the brim of her cap over her eyes. “Um, yeah, I-I guess you could say that," Kazuichi responded. Kyoko just sighed and grimaced and Kazuichi found himself getting irritated by her behaviour. She'd already paid this man to be quiet, so why be rude to him? He suddenly wished Shuichi had accepted this case instead. "You look like none of the ones I've seen in the magazines or on the news. You sure you're really from Hope's Peak?" Once again dead air. Tires on the road. Wind and cars passing by. "Would anyone else pay you to keep quiet?" Kazuichi asked.  
“I suppose not… actually, looking at you, that wild hair, those sharp teeth… you’re Kazuichi Souda, aren’t you?”  
“Uhh… yeah, I am… guess I didn’t do a good enough job hidin’ that, huh? Even without the braid and the earrings and the clothes, I guess there’s no gettin’ past some people.”

The driver suddenly went a deep shade of red. "I-I… what I meant, sir is that you are doing an excellent job of appearing as a regular--"  
“Hey, what’s your name?” Kyoko suddenly piped up.  
“Umm… Kurihara Daisou, ma’am.”  
“Can you do me favour, Kurihara?”  
“Y-yes, ma’am?” Daisou’s hands were tight around the steering wheel and he was clearly sweating.  
“Cut the ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ act. Right now, we’re just regular customers, getting driven to a destination. Got that?” Her voice was steely and absolute. But there was also some waviness there, as if she was uncomfortable interacting with people like Kurihara, regular men and women who weren’t victims, or witnesses, or suspects in some case.  
“Y-Yes, ma--”  
“Kyoko. Call me Kyoko.”  
“I-I’m sorry, Kyoko. It’s just… you guys are idols, you know that?” There was more than a hint of admiration in Kurihara’s voice.  
“All too well.” Was Kyoko’s response.  
“Especially after what happened 8 months ago, you guys have been reaching new hei--” He suddenly choked on his own words, “A-Ah, my apologies Kazuichi, that may be a touchy subject…”  
“Hmm?” Kazuichi raised an eyebrow and began to feel nauseous, despite the motion sickness patch behind his ear. “Why would that be a touchy subject for me…? Don’t get me wrong, we all affected but…”  
“Ah, I was under the belief that the victim in that incident was your girlfriend, Chihiro Fujisaki. I remember the news reports clearly, yes. You came up quite a lot.” Kazuichi remembered in the days following journalists were turned away en masse at the entrance to the Academy.  
"I… was it that noticeable? That we were…" Kazuichi felt dizzy. Tears began to well in his eyes. He felt vulnerable and paranoid as if every star in the sky was suddenly turned towards him and watching his every move through the glass of the windows like bright, unrelenting eyes. He wished to smash it and breathe fresh air. Everything was so cramped. Claustrophobic. Tight. His heart rate increased. His eyes and breath became hot. 

"H-Haah…! Haah!" He gulped in air. He had begun to cry. Chihiro… Chihiro… where was he? Why wasn't he by his side? Would he ever be the same? Could he be the same or would the eyes of the world forever look into their lives? Kazuichi began to panic. He wanted to scream. Stifling his sobs had only succeeded in making his jagged teeth dig into his lips and draw blood. Panic and fear pressed him back into the cold leather seats. "Chihiro… haah! Please, please be okay…" He said, though it was but a husky whisper.  
"Pathetic," Kyoko muttered. "You! Kurihara! Look at what you've done to your passenger! This could've been avoided if you'd kept silent, like I’m paying you to.”  
“I… ma’am, I’m truly, deeply sorry! I didn’t think he’d react like this!”  
"Eyes on the road, man!" Kyoko commanded. "Are we just characters to you?! People, who live their lives out in the pages of news reports and tabloids?"  
“N-No… you’re…”  
“And you!” Kyoko turned her furrowed brow to Kazuichi. Anger burned behind those contacts now. “You just need to shut up! You don’t owe anyone conversation and by thinking you do you’ve got yourself into a right mess! Look at you! You’re a wreck!”  
“And…?” He asked, in an almost silent whisper.  
“Hmm?”  
“And…?! What, you just expect me not freak out?! Unlike you, I can actually process emotion, ya fuckin’ robot! I’m gonna make conversation because I read a goddamn room! I don’t want awkward silence, anyone who isn’t socially impaired doesn’t! You think I wanna turn into this teary-eyed child when some mentions Chihiro, do ya?! I don’t, but I can’t help it! I…” Kazuichi wanted to say more but decided he’d made his point.  
Kyoko no longer looked angry. She seemed to have been thoroughly shaken. “I expect my 30,000¥ back and for you to keep quiet.” Was all she could manage to say to the driver. He nodded his head rapidly and sincerely. Kurihara wasn’t going to blab about this exchange, not least because he was scared about who’d rip him to shreds first if he did. “Kyoko…” Kazuichi began. “Sorry.” He wanted to say so much more, but the words – like his sobs – were caught.  
“Apology accepted. I’ll try not to take it too personally.” Kyoko herself looked on the verge of tears, like everyone else in the vehicle. Kazuichi could tell she really had accepted his apology but had cut her deep nonetheless.

The rest of the journey was conducted in stark silence.


	4. Leaving Japan

Chapter 4:  
Leaving Japan

Tokyo International Airport, Terminal 1, 7:48 am  
Kurihara dropped the two outside Terminal 1 of Tokyo International Airport and left without a word. Trundling their suitcases inside, Kazuichi and Kyoko felt slightly tense, not only because they were about to leave the country on a wild goose chase from which they may be turned away from, but also because of the brief altercation that had taken place in the back of Kurihara’s car. It may have been a minor spat, but it had created a rift otherwise not there before. The first order of business was to exchange the 30,000¥ meant for Kurihara to Euros – €242 in all. As Kazuichi saw her hand the notes to the stony-faced assistant manning the exchange desk, he noticed there were many more large wads of notes, most likely to bribe the individual staff manning each section of the airport. The legality of that was questionably grey. Kazuichi found his suspicions confirmed when they wandered to the check-in desk and saw a small wad handed to the woman behind it, who soon quelled her surprise and handed back the passports. All this time, not a word had passed between Kazuichi and Kyoko and he didn't see it necessary to apologise again, so he instead asked, "Business class? Aren't we supposed to be ‘blending in'?"   
"Fewer people in business. Still the opportunity to sit next to one another. 30 minutes of free WiFi I can use when Blankenburg told me to.”  
“He’s updating you?”  
“Has been for the past hour.”  
“Why haven’t I heard any of this?” The two stepped onto an escalator and Kazuichi looked out the front of the terminal. The morning sky was still dark, but small cracks of light from lamps and floodlights streamed onto the carpark and surrounding facilities, bathing them in an artificial glow he found oddly comforting. The green grass of home was on the other side of a wall of grass and concrete and he wouldn’t feel it until he was back here with Chihiro in tow. 

“You didn’t ask.”  
“That’s a half-assed response. Don’t need to be a detective to see that.” Kazuichi said, the grinding of wheels against the polished tiles of the floor and loud footsteps accentuating the sentence.   
“Maybe.” And so, the two continued onto security and scanning, pushing electronics into trays and taking off metallic items, pushing them along the rolling grey tubes to be processed. The body scans were fine, though one of the security men seemed to get a kick out of his teeth. “They mightn’t be against regulation, but I’d be careful with those weapons you call teeth, sharkboy.” He chuckled before gesturing to the old man behind Kazuichi to come through. Kyoko was sat on an uncomfortable looking metal seat and the annoyance spread on her face made it seem she’d been waiting for Kazuichi for hours, not seconds. She handed him his suitcase. “Gate 32, 8:50.”  
“I can read, you know.” Kyoko didn’t pay attention to this snarky comment.  
“And if you were wondering, Chihiro is fine according to Blankenburg. He’d lost a lot of blood… I can only imagine what he’s gone through.” White hot anger flashed across Kyoko’s eyes and through Kazuichi’s body. “It was a pain to get the blood from the local bank to the room where Chihiro was… but it all worked out. He isn’t resisting treatment, but…”  
“But what?” Kazuichi asked. They were walking through duty-free now, the overwhelming scent of perfume sickening Kazuichi. Or perhaps that was just the information he was being given.   
"Well, he's going to the bathroom, but when it comes to showering… he refuses. According to Josua, he just says ‘Kazuichi needs to get back first. We normally shower together.'". At once a pang of immense guilt washed over Kazuichi's body, making it hard to walk. "Don't beat yourself up about it. Though the doctors are worried. He's disgustingly filthy and that grime isn't coming off…"   
"Pictures." Kazuichi found himself only being able to speak in one-word sentences again, due to the immense swells coming up his throat.   
“Hmm?”  
“Do you have pictures of him?” Kazuichi rushed out the words.  
“I-I’ll ask Blankenburg.” She said, returning to tapping on her phone screen. Those gloves clearly had some way of interacting with the touchscreen, which interested Kazuichi.

Kazuichi hadn't received any texts since leaving, though it was still early morning. He had left a note on his desk, addressed to Kirumi (who always cleaned the dorms) explaining where he was going. He wondered if she'd even read it. While pondering this, sudden pangs of hunger hit him. The fact he hadn't eaten for nearly a day dawned on him and he pulled out his wallet. "Hey, Kyoko, what's for breakfast?" She looked up from her phone.   
“Um, whenever I’m whisked away on foreign jobs I normally just grab a burger or something.”  
“A burger? For breakfast?”  
“Um… yes, I suppose. Is that not supposed to happen?”  
"I mean… I suppose you can always eat what you want, but man, that's liking eating sushi at midnight. It's like breakin' a sacred, unwritten law or somethin'."   
"But… the Tokyo International Burger King is in such close proximity to the gates I see no logical reason to eat anything else…" "Kyoko, ya don't need to use some logical excuse to justify why you like eatin' American food, y' know. Tell ya what, if it's ‘in such close proximity' or whatever, let's just head there now." "U-uh… sure." Kazuichi sighed.   
“When is it ever not professionalism with you, jeez…”

Kazuichi bit into the tender meat and soft buns of the meal and sighed heavily. The chunk of meat and bread hadn’t even hit the back of his throat when they were met with a tidal wave of cherryade, pushing them down Kazuichi’s gullet. “Really hits the spot.”  
“You… eat like an animal. How’d you ever score someone as mild as Chihiro?” Kyoko observed. She hadn’t touched her meal, instead taking to prodding it with her index finger.   
“I dunno. Just worked out I guess. Maybe that kid has a thing for dumbasses.”  
“Yeah… ‘dumbasses’...”  
“Anway, what’s the real reason you brought me here, Kyoko?”  
“Excuse me?”  
“I’m operating on half a litre of cherryade right now, if I’m gonna get the most out of this sugar high I’m gonna ask something I’ve been meaning to but not had the emotional balls to.”  
“…”  
“What? You think the fact you brought along the Ultimate Mechanic instead of the other literal Ultimate Detective didn’t set off any alarm bells? I mean, I almost would’ve let it slide, but then you said somethin’ about bringin’ me along to the crime scenes and… man, that was when I thought you’d lost it or were playing 4D chess. So, why’re you bringing me along, apart from the whole Chihiro bit?”  
"Well, you just answered your own question." "I did?" "It's that… machine-like deduction you have. I suppose you spent your life growing up around machines, though. You probably learned more from looking at them than you ever did learn anything from people. I know for a fact you were the first person to know Chihiro’s secret because I remember when you kept focusing in on his face and eyeing it to the point when he went to shake your hand the day 78 was introduced to 77 you asked him ‘so what should I call you?’.”  
“You remember that?”  
“Of course I did. Your suspicion raised mine and eventually I figured it out. But I’ve always wondered how you even noticed that." "People are kinda like machines in a way. You're wrong about me learning more from machines because what I learned from both is interchangeable. People and machines are always built a certain way. Males, females… look beyond the make-up, or the scars and bruises and ya eventually just kinda get a face. And it's always got telltale signs of what is or isn't going on. Chihiro's face… it had more of a male look to it… but I had to ask, to be sure. And I just accepted him as female until he told me back in Nice." "See, that's why you're important. You'd never be a detective. Ever. You're too emotional." "Gee, thanks." "But you've got the skillset. Moreso than others. It's weird… you're like a partner. An…" "Understudy?" "Yes, that. So that's why I brought you along. I'd even bet you could figure out things I couldn't." "I… guess I'll try. Don't get your hopes up." "Sure thing, Mr. self-proclaimed dumbass. Now come on, the flight awaits." And so, the two left the Burger King, with Kyoko not having even touched a morsel and the tension and worry in Kazuichi's chest growing. He hoped that when that Josua guy finally responded… the picture it would paint would quell his ever-growing discontent.


	5. No Home For A Father

February winds danced around the open air, pinching his facial features. A tentative, gaunt hand, grey for lack of sun, knocked on the door of the slum house, recoiling from the redwood door as if the peeling brown paint was painful to the touch. Though his numb fingers furled into a fist, they did not warm up, nor was his thumb ever allowed to keep still, wriggling around in his clenched hand. And, when the door opened, his voice was not much more than a fleeting whisper. "Are you Haruka Souda?” It asked. And then, more importantly, “Can I come in?”

 

Chapter 5  
No Home For A Father

House in the Slums, 7:35 am

The hallways reeked of motor oil, a smell almost as viscous as the fluid it emanated from. The walls were a fucking miserable yellow, like pus seeping forth from an open wound and the overbearing light cast from the bare-naked lightbulbs caused him to adjust the cap on his head out of fear it would cause blindness. Brittle, beige porcelain tiles – sometimes revealing the rotting floorboards that carried with them the stench of death – haphazardly coated the floors of the rooms not covered in the stinking grey carpet, with its gaudy floral patterns scrawled on it, the design itself the colour of shit-brown. But, Haruka himself was a rather well-kept man, despite what his surroundings would suggest. A black jumpsuit, perhaps better at hiding the stains of various fluids that found their way onto it than his son's, covered his body. His arms were exposed, bruised and coated in thick black hair, not unlike the long messy hair of the same colour on his head. His face was clean-shaven, but his eyes sunken, the colour of five o'clock shadow that would've been more suited to his chin, resting beneath them. He was healthy, buff, and not as lanky as his son would've led him to believe, definitely as handsome… not much that he cared for that sort of thing. "Drink, detective?" He asked, offering some off-brand beer that looked like it would taste of pigswill. “I’m, um, a junior.”  
“Ah. Right you are. Righto,” Haruka put one of the beers away and cracked open the other with his teeth. “Come, we’ll talk in the living room. You look like you want to bolt right out that door and never come back. Relax your shoulders, boy.” His tone was fatherly, kind. Not what the stories had led him to believe. 

The living room was just as depressing as the rest of the cramped house. A navy-blue sofa, already seeming to have been the feast of many an insect or rabid animal, was his seat of choice. It clashed with the beige... everything. The armchair Haruka sat it was a lime-green and it too was an eyesore. A CRTV stood on a polished wooden stand, the only thing that seemed to be up-kept in this dump, perhaps because the man himself had created it. "So, you wanted to talk about my son?" He took a hunched, more serious position and his voice had a tension to it, like a catgut string wound too tight around a violin, one that could snap with a finger-stroke. "Yes, actually. It's… um," He swallowed a gob of liquid anxiety, "rather serious I'm afraid." Hakura looked puzzled.   
“Serious how?” The hairs on his legs pricked, signs of discomfort he had felt a hundred times before but that still irritated him to no end.  
“Your son is a suspect--”  
“Bullshit.” Haruka’s eyes were steely.  
“Please, allow me to finish, sir.” His gaze softened.  
“My apologies, detective." "Your son is a suspect in a… in a…" Two months. It had taken him two months to formulate the information his senior had given him. And here he was, about to tell an allegedly abusive father that same information about his son. His throat closed, his vision blurred. The next sentence that came out his mouth was accentuated by a voice crack. "Human trafficking case." 

He waited for a reaction. For pure, unbridled fury, for yells of ‘Get out!’ or ‘Are you delusional?’ to come from Haruka. It wouldn’t be the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. But all he heard from the man-mountain was an eerie silence. A silence that morphed into an inhuman wail, the father’s face contorting like he had just sucked a whole lemon and then into a pained sob. He collapsed back into his armchair and began to cry.

But it was the truth. Chihiro’s disappearance seemed to have a link to Kazuichi, whether he wanted to admit it or not. It was him. A night on the town, where only Kazuichi knew where the boy was headed, where a car happened to pull up next to him. He got in, but it wasn’t a struggle. It was willing, it seemed. Both Kirigiri, he and the prefectural police said it seemed so. It was him. But they would let Kazuichi go on living his fantasy – this was an abduction, right? It was him. All evidence pointed against him. Were his feelings genuine? Did a man, obsessed with a princess for years on end suddenly fall for this frail boy? No, they concluded, gathered around that table. It was clear cut. No. No. No, it wasn’t they convinced themselves, ending the meeting before they could change their minds. It was him. It was him. It was him. It was him. Weeks of playing that message in his head had led to this becoming ‘truth’. His appearance in Austria, saying his name on repeat was more evidence pointing towards Kazuichi. Was it more likely Chihiro was saying the one name that kept him sane all that time – or trying to give the name of his kidnapper? It was him. That only happened in bad romance stories. So, send him to Austria and get the confession from the lion’s mouth. It was easiest that way – the truth would out and the name Kazuichi Souda would be associated with a psychopathic man who pretended, with his glib and superficial charm, to love a boy so he could sell him for money. It was him, his mind screamed and screamed as the father broke down in front of him.

“W-Why? Why accuse my boy? Fuck, what’s his mother going to th--” He screamed like a child and banged the armrest. He explained everything, how the CCTV footage, the car, the fact only he knew where Chihiro was going that night… it was him. “Are there any…” Haruka gulped, “Are there any other suspects?”  
“Well, right now, Kazuichi is the prime suspect.”  
“So, there are no others?”  
“Not at the moment, no. We’ve, um, put a lot of stock into being your s-son.” To see this grown man cry like a child was deeply disturbing for him, how he gasped for breath after each word. He empathised with him. But knew it was his son.  
“He was such a sweet boy. Such a sweet, sweet… I know he dressed like a punk but… you… you gotta understand… fuck…" It seemed to him several thoughts were vying for control over Haruka's voice. "I take it I've gotta go to the prefectural precinct now?" He asked in a sudden moment of clarity. "Um… that mightn't be necessary, sir," he responded.   
“Will… will it help clear his name?” Haruka did the oddest thing. As he asked this, he sunk to his knees.   
“Well… it may, depending on the testimony you can give on his character…”  
“Really?” The man got up. “Character-based testimony?”  
“It helps with, ah, establishing motive. Y-y’know…”  
“Well, then can you please ask his mother to give this testimony too? Here, I’ll give you her address.

Shuichi went white as a sheet. “P-Pardon, his what?”  
“His… mother? A child must have a mother, no?”  
“B-But… but the prefecture told us his mother was… she was…”  
“Was what?”  
“D-Dead.” Haruka’s eyes widened.  
“You sure you’ve not gotten the wrong Souda? Maybe my mother, or her mother before her?”  
“Um, sir, may I have her address?”  
“Oh, of course.” He produced a piece of scrap paper and a pen from his jumpsuit pocket, which was soon splashed with the remnants of teardrops, and gave an address. “Here. Do you want me to take you there now? It’s pretty close to the prefectural station…”  
“No…” Shuichi was numb. “I’ll get the train.”  
"Your call detective. And hey, no hard feelings. Your superiors must have a screw loose if they think they can suspect my boy!” He guffawed, but Shuichi could hear the doubt and confusion perforate the bellowing laugh. As he left, Shuichi heard him mutter the oddest thing. “Please… Kazuichi… let me be a good father to you… just this once.” He pretended not to hear it, he already had enough reason to cry. And, as he stared at the paper reading:  
“Sachiko Souda, 162-1174, Roppongi Izumigadentawa(14-kai), Minato-ku, Tokyo” He clutched his stomach and began to vomit.


	6. Misconceptions

Chapter 6  
Misconceptions

Shuichi cleaned up his mess and made his way to the door. It had a lock, but he didn’t have the key – and who would want to rob this house anyway? Making his way back into the cold backstreet, the breeze and his anticipation of what was to come caused him to shudder. His decision to visit Kazuichi’s father wasn’t sanctioned by the prefecture and the sudden revelation they had lied to him demonstrated why. 

9:22 am, De Luxe Apartments, Naruhoudo Building  
Shuichi was tense and annoyed. The address Haruka had given was a bust. He had survived two hours of heckling from those who recognised him – "Aren't you that…?" "Oh my God, it's Saihara!" "Can you sign this for my son, please?" – and it left him at his wit's end. He wanted to believe this was the reason he hardly left his room, but he knew that wasn't the case. He entered the lobby – it was your typical modern apartment lobby he saw every time a domestic spat ended badly, or some poor sod shot too much into his arm. Clean, white walls, with marble floors and thin plants in white cuboid planters lining the perimeter. Black and white sofas surrounding a similarly monotone coffee table in the centre, a glass see-through panel in its centre. Flatscreens on the left and right wall; white, semi-circular reception desk with stony-faced employee manning it – it was like there was a hidden template all architects and realtors had followed to get there. He entered the elevator and rode it to the fourth floor – the real address of Sachiko. He wondered why she had given her ex-husband the address of her old house (now occupied by a very helpful old lady and her husband who had pointed Shuichi in the right direction) and realised she probably hadn’t bothered to alert him she was moving out. Their relationship hadn’t just one foot in the grave, as he had assumed, it was six feet under. The elevator dinged and he stepped out into the whitewashed hallways. This entire building could use a few more greys, perhaps some cool blues, he mused to himself as he approached Apartment 453 and knocked on the door.

A slightly below middle-aged woman answered his call. She had her light-brown hair in a bun that touched the small of her neck and was held by a gaudy yellow… was that a hair scrunchie? Her attire, a striped shirt that made her look like a candy cane and bell-bottom jeans probably explained her son's unique fashion sense. One look into those eyes, which swelled with mischief, and he knew Kazuichi took more after his mother than father, which made some sense considering the regard he held his father in. "Are you one of Kazu's friends? Do come in." She smiled at him and extended an arm. "Thank you, ma'am." Shuichi entered the apartment and was surprised to smell nothing. After the assault on his senses that was Haruka's oily pigsty, this was quite the paradise in comparison. "I take it you understand what it is I'm here to talk about?" He asked, walking down the hallway. It was covered with framed photographs – mostly of her and Kazuichi as a young lad, but one with a very new, expensive-looking frame, was one that shook him considerably. Chihiro sat in Kazuichi's lap, arm around his neck and flashing a peace sign at the camera. The two were smiling heartily and looked quite flushed – was it just a faked romance that took place in the grounds of Hope's Peak? The photo stuck in his mind as he made his way into the centre of the apartment. 

1 month prior  
Tokyo Prefectural Police Department – Lunch Room, 00:06

“To tell you the truth, I’m skeptical.” Kirigiri peeled an apple as she spoke. “Let’s be honest, Shuichi, I doubt Kazuichi is the psychopath they’re making him out to be. On the PCL-R he barely scores fifteen. Of course, the evidence is stacked against him. While it's true he was the only one that knew of his whereabouts that night…" She trailed off.   
“Are you doubting the prefecture?” Shuichi asked after a few seconds of silence. The cold metal of the table was extremely uncomfortable to sit on and the conversation hadn’t the most pleasant of tones.  
“Yes, I suppose you could say that.”  
“But even you can't deny the amount of evidence against him, surely?" "Well, yes… but it's all circumstantial and assumes too much." She took a bite of the apple and chewed it slowly, probably to give him time to think. "I mean… come on, is it more likely he's been faking extremely well-acted concern for the last few months, or that he has genuine feelings for the boy?" She took another bite.   
“Well… often time killers or criminals like to return to the scene of the crime, to revel in it. Back in the '70s, in the USA, Behavioural Scientists established this as a common pa--" "These ‘behavioural scientists' are often banned from entering suspect's interviews too, Shuichi. A lot of it is faulty logic. I find it very flawed to assume Kazuichi has somehow been reveling in his crime for the past coming-up-to a year. Surely the high would've ended by now, yes?"   
“I-I suppose, but…" Shuichi faltered. He couldn't doubt her logic, but he trusted the prefectural department. She was just one person. Teams of officials had helped guide the way to this conclusion, just discarding it seemed ignorant and snubbed authority. "But what about the part of the report that mentioned the abusive scenario he grew up was the perfect place to learn what volatile and tense emotion looks like? Surely that lends at least a bit of credibility to the idea this is all an act?" Shuichi failed to look her in the eye as he spoke, his nerves getting to him "I'd be inclined to believe it if it wasn't based upon everything Kazuichi experienced as a child. Who knows what he sees his father as? A demon, a monster of the night that beat him senseless and slashed his mother's throat nightly. But his cognition was likely altered by suggestion – possibly by mother. False memories are powerful things."   
“But… how do you explain his shift in behaviour from lusting for Sonia to suddenly settling for Chihiro? It’s too unlikely, too idealist--” She sighed. “Shuichi.” He immediately straightened up, as her tone was now harsh and steely. “Why are you so attached to this idea that Kazuichi is the criminal? Just because something is idealistic doesn’t mean it cannot happen. Don’t you know it is merely our job to bring in and interview our suspects – not to judge them? Until the courts have passed their judgement, Kazuichi is an innocent man.” And, upon saying this, she got up from her seat at the table and walked away.

Present Day

The living room was made up of two cream-coloured couches, a lamp, a small unvarnished wooden table, a grey rug and a large TV on the wall. It was small, unfurnished and showed Sachiko had not lived here long. “Excuse the bare room. It is hardly much of a home, is it?”  
“Yes, so new you haven’t bothered to tell your husband about it.” Sachiko giggled.  
“So that’s how you found me? Well, to tell you the truth the less that bastard knows about my whereabouts, the better.” She mimed spitting as she spoke ‘bastard’, clearly hold great contempt for the man. “Tell me, Kazu hasn’t gone to see him recently, has he?”  
“Um, not that I can tell…”  
“Good. That man has no rights seeing the sunshine he had so mistreated for years.”  
“You, um, seem to dislike your ex-husband.”  
"Hah! That's rich, boy. Dislike is too kind a word for that living aberration. It started well, you know? A family of mechanics, working at a bike shop in an impoverished area of Tokyo. It was as comfortable a living as you could make down in that shithole. But soon orders began to dry up. Clients bought from the areas closer to the city centre. Soon, that wretched man turned to alcohol to solve his problems. Drink, blow your salary on drink, take it out on your wife and son… rinse and repeat, over and over again. His rage grew with our poverty. Kazuichi, who had learned to sew and tinker from observing us, was caught up in the middle of all of this. No longer was that man teaching him life lessons and skills, but instead anger and malice. Enough was enough!” 

 

A contorted look of malice had overtaken Sachiko’s face. She held Haruka responsible for all of her problems and with a testimony like that, who could blame her. She breathed in and her face returned to the look of serenity it was earlier. "Needless to say, we settled it in court. I won custody of Kazuichi. I bought a house in the slums and we lived there until Hope's Peak sent him the invite… he gave me the money and I bought us the nicest house I could afford, though I knew he would stay in the dorms come the start of term… thought he'd be a strain on me in the house, bless his soul."   
“Um, pardon me for breaking your reminiscing but your husband seemed like a man reformed when I saw him last.”  
“Perhaps he is. But I will never accept him again. The damage he caused to Kazu and me…" Her look turned wistful. She clearly loved her son greatly, more than words could express. Shuichi knew then and there he couldn't go through with it. He was not telling this woman about Kazuichi's relation to the case at hand – it would probably break the dam that repressed the volatile cocktail of emotions that he could feel behind her words.   
“Ahm, now the formalities are out of the way, I came here to ask you a few questions.”  
“Well, I suppose you are the ‘new-age detective’ the news talks about all the time. Why else would you be here, eh?” She giggled again.  
“Yes, well, they’re not actually about Kazuichi himself, but rather Chihiro--” A sudden flash of worry crossed her face and, from the opposite sofa, she reached out a hand and gripped his knee.  
“Oh goodness! Please tell me you didn’t mention their relationship to his father!”   
“Um, no, I didn’t.”  
“Phew.” She sighed. “He’s very traditional about those things. I don’t care who my boy dates, so long as he’s happy. And you should’ve seen the two when they were here! Complete fools… but I suppose that is what young love does to a person.” That deep sadness covered her face once more, if only briefly.

 

“So… they were actually in love?”  
“Of course! Why, you couldn’t pry the two apart with a crowbar. It was kinda cute actually… I’m so very happy for him. Have you seen the photograph? Here let me--” She rose to get up, loosening her grip on his knee.  
“That won’t be necessary, I’ve already seen it in the hallway.”  
“Ahaha! Aren’t they just adorable?” Shuichi had to admit they looked lovestruck. And with that, he finally ceded in his mind the idea that Kazuichi was faking his emotions. He truly was in love… it was odd, but something must’ve gone on he didn’t yet know about.  
“It’s funny, one moment he’s talking about a plan to woo this princess over the holidays and the next he comes in holding hands with this timid cherub and introducing him, rather awkwardly, as his lover. I must wonder what happened…” Shuichi stood up.  
“Thank you, ma'am, you have been a great help to me." "You're leaving, detective? But you've barely been here ten minutes. I could get you a drink, a snack…" "That won't be necessary." This ‘dead' woman was the only person who could confirm her son's feelings were genuine. That explained quite a bit. Panic and fear rose in Shuichi's chest. "I'll be seeing you."   
“Do come again should you need more information. It gets lonely here.”  
“Goodbye and thank you again, ma'am," Shuichi said, strolling towards the door at a fast pace. 

As soon as he reached the lobby he frantically begged the receptionist to turn to the news on the TVs. She obliged. And, as the anchorman read off the news, the dozen or so people in the lobby all turned to stare at the TV, as a tempest – one from which one could not tear their eyes away – had suddenly formed. And it seemed it was only going to increase in its magnitude from here.

"Earlier this morning, the Tokyo Police Department has come out with a statement finally naming a suspect in the now infamous Fujisaki kidnapping case. While it has taken them a long time – too long, many critics of the force argue – to release this information, nineteen-year-old Kazuichi Souda has been named as the prime suspect. The victim's partner, the believed motive is monetary gain via trafficking, as he came from a rather poor background and his mother is believed to be struggling financially. Hope's Peak officials are expected to respond later today, but inside sources have revealed Souda's room to be empty, which the police say is a sign he is fleeing from the ‘arm of the law' and thus an admission of guilt. We now turn to…" Shuichi held his head. He felt dizzy. His legs felt like blocks of lead that did not attach to his body correctly and he could barely move them. His breathing became shallow, his vision blurred. His finally doubled over and continued to hyperventilate as men in their business suits attended to him, pleading to someone to call an ambulance.


	7. Phone Home

Chapter 7  
Phone Home

Queen Elizabeth II Airport, Dover, 4:32 pm 

“A panic attack?”   
“That’s the first time I’ve heard you voice legitimate concern in quite some time.” The voice on the other end of the line sounded as healthy as Shuichi’s voice could be considered to be. “But yeah, that was the diagnosis… But I’m free to go.” He sighed. “I’m not cut out for this line of work, am I?”  
“If that’s happening, no.”  
“Cold as ever, I see." A weak laugh. "Well, no matter. I'm determined to see this case through because it involves everyone now."   
“Listen, Shuichi… try and settle the Academy down. Convince them he didn’t do it. I know you’re not the best public spea--”  
“But w-what if he did do it?” A meek voice came through the phone.  
“Sorry, what was that?”  
“I c-can’t convince them he d-didn’t do it because… reasonable… doubt…” His voice devolved into a whisper. Kyoko thought about berating him – he still clung onto a false idea merely because it was doled out by some authority or another – but decided against it.   
“Listen… just try and control them okay?” She ended the call before he could argue back.

“I am this close to throwing up.” Kazuichi had his head buried in his arms.  
“As you’ve been saying for the past three and a half hours.” Kyoko sipped a bottle of spring water. “Go stand near the window and get some sun… the oddly British obsession of covering an entire wall with a glass pane seems to extend to even their new projects.”  
“You could at least pretend to care.” Kazuichi pouted. He seemed low – maybe knowing it was still a thirty-odd-hour drive to Austria had put a dampener on his original enthusiasm for this case.  
“And you could use an original line." Kyoko sighed and put the bottle down on the metal table. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket – her favourite German detective was calling. "It'd be best if you were away when you take this." She passed him the phone, knowing what was on the other end would probably make him happier. And he deserved it. She smiled, ever so briefly, at knowing this.

“H-Hello? Is this, um, Bla-Blanket…” His German was horribly clunky and accented. Kazuichi had gotten up out of his seat and, taking Kyoko’s suggestion, began to make a beeline to the panoramic window covering the whole airport’s front face.  
“Blankenburg?” The voice at the other end laughed heartily. Kazuichi increased his pace. ‘Yes, that would be my name.” He seemed to be futzing around the Japanese language too – he sounded full of bravado, though. Kazuichi supposed it came with age, considering he sounded mid-thirties; or maybe that was just the heavy German accent. “And I take it you’re Mister Verdächtigen, eh?”  
“Um… sure.” Kazuichi leaned against the window. It was icy cold, as was the sun, which did nothing to help how nauseous and uneasy he felt.  
“Good. Well, I’ll leave you be for a bit. Someone here wants to talk to you.” Kazuichi’s heart began to thump with force as he heard some mild shuffling and, when it died down, a voice he had been waiting what felt like lifetimes to hear.  
"Kaz?" The Z was slurred as if a drunkard had said it. But not alcohol, nor time, nor anything on earth could erode the heavenly sound of that voice. Floaty and mellifluous, delicate like a flower yet burning with a cold passion underneath each syllable. Feminine. Overflowing with masculinity. It was Chihiro's voice. It was home. 

“Ch-Chihi?” His clamp on the phone tightened. “It’s me, Chihi. You’re… you’re talking to Kaz.”  
“I recognise your voice, dummy. It’s only been a few hours, after all.”  
“Hours…?” Kazuichi faltered. “Chihiro, it’s been months. I wouldn’t be actin’ like this if it wasn’t.” Chihiro giggled.   
“Months? Are you feeling alright Kaz? I'm back home, so you can come and see me in the dorm. We'll shower together like we always do." Chihiro spoke robotically, like he was following a script, something he had written out in his head to keep him in his own little bubble. He couldn't shatter that bubble, for fear it might damage Chihiro. He couldn't truly connect with the real Chihiro. This thought and the powerlessness that came with it hit him like a bolt from the heavens. And it made him unspeakably angry.   
“Chihiro… is there a man in that room with you?”  
“Ah, the new German teacher! How did you know about him?” Chihiro sounded close to tears. Could popping his little mental bubble somehow break him down? Kazuichi suddenly felt like talking to a machine. An oven, a coffee machine, that little voice-activated AI in his phone. They always gave the same response, no matter how you interacted with them. Boyfriends were complicated. “The news. I heard it on the news.”  
“Oh? I haven't been keeping up with it lately. I wonder why… everything seems so different. Like I've been gone so long. To... that other place." Suddenly Chihiro began to make little distressed noises – groans and murmurs that sounded somewhere between a wail and a sob.   
“What have I told you about cryin’, huh?” Kazuichi whispered.  
“I… I wish you were here to hug me, Kaz. It hurts sometimes. Hurts to think. And I-I don’t k-know why…!” He shrieked the last syllable out.  
“I’ll come to your dorm soon Chihiro. Don’t worry.” Chihiro was still audibly crying on the other end of the line. “I… I love you, dummy. Save some of your tears for later, for me, okay?” He hung up. And, in the light of that cold and forgotten sun, he bit into his hand.

He didn't know why he did it. Though he didn't know it at the time, in truth, he just wanted to take out the small knot of rage that had formed inside of his chest as the conversation went on. He was faced with the cold reality that he was just as powerless and emotionally impotent as ever. As for the teeth that tore and sliced and slit into his hand? It hurt, of course, there was no doubting it would. He gnawed like a rabid dog on the tough muscle and sinew where his thumb met his second fingers and ripped away skin and flesh, turning the jagged daggers of his teeth bloody. The piercing, stabbing pain in his hand helped ease the frustration. He rapidly bit into it over and over and over, ever more frantic, a frenzy of teeth and blood, just biting, chewing, clawing until the anger went away. He got weird looks from the passersby, but he didn't care. This was the apex of his powerlessness. He knew now, how it felt to be a small pebble on golden sands, carried away into the icy sea and completely unable to fight the current. Chihiro was rotting away in a room and he couldn't do anything to help. The idea made him even more furious and he attacked his hand with new gusto, ripping and tearing away slivers from it. He wished he could open Chihiro up and fix him like he would any other machine. But that wouldn't work. He spat the blood from his hand out and held his head in his hands. Tears spilled from his eyes, burning hot against the freezing sun. 

And Kyoko stood, watching. Sickened and fascinated.


End file.
